Kat Klaw's Amazing Stories

Mmmmmmmm, procrastination.... Also, some more embroidery

2011-08-16T14:57:00.011+09:30

While my brain tries to wrap itself around my latest homework assignment (readings, readings and more bloody readings) without snapping into a cranky old bat tirade about how people annoy me and why can't there simply be less people (social justice papers do that to you), I'm going to procrastinate, which basically means I'm going to write about my cross stitch again. Yay!!!

So this is the second of the embroidery bags, the ones I bled for. I do prefer the design on this one to the other, and it does appear to be more versatile for future designs, but once again it was painful and annoying, so I don't think I will be buying anymore pre-sewn bag kits like these in the future.

This is a kit that I picked up for a whopping $2. Who says cross stitch can't be cheap, sometimes. This giraffe kit did stinge out on threads though, making it very annoying when I realized I had finished the last of the green thread but not the last of the green sections. Thankfully I had some green thread left over from another kit and was able to use that as grass, meaning I finished the kit, and it ended up looking more interesting with the two green tones as opposed to one. This was quickly snapped up by my Grandma, who loved it on first sight and I have to say he's a cute little giraffe. Well worth the $2.

This is the other $2 kit and is entirely cute. Quickly snapped up by Mum, all I can really say about it is its quite nice, an easy kit to stitch and a pattern well worth the $2. There really are some quality kits out there cheap. There are some very very nasty ones too, but still, some good ones.

I guess this is the first design I've put up here which actually came from my now millions of magazines I have about cross stitching. Proving I am a total nutter, I started buying (last year) Cross Stitch Crazy, closely followed by The World of Cross Stitch religiously and doing designs from them. I have a million on the go, and they keep giving out free kits with the mags, which make me even more time poor. This one, proving I am out of order in my photos, is one I did for my Nana for Christmas last year. He was then slapped into a home made aperture card (because stupid Spotlight wasn't selling them at the stupid time and the stupid thing still didn't last visit. Annoying, and yet, I love them.) and sent off. She said she loved him, so that's always a good start. He took a bit of time and used a new technique for the stars, which I taught myself from the pattern. The mags are pretty ok at showing you how to do new techniques but their demos on french knots still frustrate me. He also used variegated threads, which was a brand new concept for me for the background. It took a few seconds to get used to them and how to use them in the best manner, but once I worked that out, I kinda developed a like for those styles of thread. It also introduced me to a new section of the thread stand at the craft shop. Mwahahahahaaaaa.

This would have been the first free kit I got with the first issue of Cross Stitch Crazy I got. It was a cute design and great fun to stitch, and really did set a high bar for the kits they give out with those mags. I have since been getting Cross Stitch Card Shop as well, and all the free kits are absolutely the highest quality and awesome fun. This ended up being given to Mum as her birthday card last year, after I decorated the card it came with to make it less boring. I liked that it had a bow in the middle and it showed me that you can have more additions to cross stitch designs than simply beads.

That's all for now, even though I have a crapton more on the go and completed. I have procrastinated long enough and now it is back to the world of anger and pissed off at stupid people (never assume that an academic is not a moron. Academics are sometimes the biggest tools to ever walk the planet) and try to interpret the vast areas of social justice that exist (sarcastic joy). Til next time.

Embroidery..... the thing the kids are really doing and just don't say it

2010-10-27T15:06:00.008+10:30

There is the stereotype out there in the world that young people do "young people things", such as clubbing, drinking themselves stupid and smashing letterboxes. The other part of the stereotype is that "young people" don't cook, live off fast food and junk, and also believe and live a completely disposable culture. While parts of this are indeed true, I happened through freaky happenstance to have a group of friends in high school which rejected this culture. Sure, they drink to excess (reading drunken Facebook statuses is highly amusing), dance the "white boy" dance of my generation and do consume a large amount of fast foods, but they also make their own clothing, love to bake and cook, and some of us even embroider. At lunch time, our conversations which resulted in "Man, you've missed out," usually involved someone admitting they had never eaten pavlova before, and outrage was definitely screamed out when the same person admitted they had never before consumed trifle (*cough cough* Blondie *cough cough*). Things which were smuggled into the school yard were far from alcoholic, but rather cakes and trifle for the deprived human and all around her (don't worry, her culinary tastes exploded once we found out. It's a slow process.). Things which were common in our grandparents generations were beloved in ours. Baking cakes and being able to cook from a recipe was and still is highly regarded amongst my friends. Even me, the one who screws up most simple dishes can bake a lovely cake.

My main speciality (other than baked goods, deserts and pasta) is the simple skill of embroidery. I cross stitch, long stitch, back stitch, etc. This pleases my grandmother immensely, especially as my mother fails in the ability to sew. As a child, I would try to knit and do crafts with my grandma (I suck a knitting), and this lead to a strong bond between us. One time after I had finished high school, my grandma brought home a small bookmark cross stitch from the shops and my passion for embroidery was re-ignited. I did that bookmark and gave it back to her, writing "Grandma" down the side. Her response was to frame it and place it in pride of place in her home. I was thrilled. It then gave me an idea. For Christmas I went and bought a cross stitch to do for her, and give her the finished work. It was of a puppy and a chicken, and when I bought it 3 weeks prior to Christmas, I felt hey, plenty of time to finish it. Boy was I wrong.

This is how it looked, not completely finished a whopping 2.5 years later. The "little cross stitch" was nowhere near ready that first Christmas or the one after. It was insane. I was clearly out of my depth, but somehow it was completed.

That is the final item up on my grandmothers wall. She loves it. After a while, I grew restless, and I have an embroidery on the go which is just as massive. It's cat's with guns. Should be awesome. But in the meantime, I have done small side projects for people. One was a special gift for a family friend. She was dying of cancer (RIP) and I decided to make a nice little bookmark for her. My reasoning was simple; she loved flowers and sure, people were bringing them to her, but those died over time. Cross stitched flowers lasted forever.

The cross stitch was found in her bible when she did finally pass, as it was the only bookmark she had. As she was deeply religious, I felt very touched to have something I made her placed in such a prominent spot. This did inspire me to do more, and as such my shopping life includes trips to discount shops for discount embroidery kits, which give me patterns to use with threads and blank Aida. At first I was happy to just do the cheap kits, until this one.

This is the most evil, horrible, satanic kit I've ever had the displeasure of working with. The pattern is ok, cheap, nasty, but it works and is ok. I can reuse it, and work with it in another setting very nicely. This kit, however, is for a bag and it comes with an Aida bag for you to sew onto. Problem; the bastard bag comes pre-made. As in, the sides are sewn together, and there's a tiny as hole to fit your hand in to sew the design. Very, very nasty. I cannot imagine a kindly old lady being able to do this without seriously hurting herself. The seams are so solid you can't even take them apart to do the design easily without damaging the Aida bag. The needle that came with it is sharp, which is not the sort of needle one should use in embroidery of this nature. I bled for that bag. It was given to grandma to fix up with ribbons, and she sent it on as requested to a person needing a pick me up. That person was her little sister, who has a relation dying and is having a hard time of it. I received a lovely little thank you card which grandma assures me has a lot of writing in it for a card from her sister. I have another of these bags waiting for me to do. It is something I am very eager to continue procrastinating over.

I have also done a little owl bookmark I am yet to take a photo of. That already has a home, and then there is a giraffe one to be completed. For $2 for a complete kit, I was happy to take the child-like designs.

There lies a question in all this, the big, Dark Knight question. If you are good at something, never do it for free. So how does one make this a business venture to solve the unemployment? I have a good idea for that, but it's not going to be easy and sometime soon I will have to undergo a test of my own design to examine if it can be done with a minimum of hair pulling and finger stabbing. In the meantime, I shall continue my own little embroideries and the ones I give away.

Oh and Blondie, finish those cross stitch bookmarks so I feel less like a grandma when I shop for embroideries.

A fire should do the trick.

2010-10-15T15:59:00.003+10:30

Today is a day of odd feelings. Well, to be honest, not all of today was like that, but still a conflict that has been within me for ages is now ready to be finished. Closed off.

Today I received my certificate. Yes, a simple piece of paper which says I have officially finished my degree (the paper even says that happened months ago but the slack creatures in their admin have just finalised crap). Some would say that's a good thing. Certainly friends of mine who have received their degree have spoken of pride, happiness and great joy and satisfaction at having possession of such an object. My feelings are not along the same lines.

For several months now I have been wanting to burn my certificate when it arrived in the mail. I wanted to burn it even as I was finishing the degree. It is a single piece of paper which tells me that I have lost far too much to get it, that I destroyed too many friendships that will never recover, too much of my health, sanity and far too much of myself. There were days while I did that degree that I felt ending it made far too much sense, and I don't mean quiting the degree. That was never an option. I look upon that piece of paper which has caused me to loose jobs and any chance of employment. It has slashed my chances of ever being employed. I gained friends during that period and then lost them equally quickly, good friends, good people who I never speak to, haven't been able to speak to in months. Now they've all moved away, or are too busy chasing their own little pieces of paper, jobs or children to speak to me. A sad event indeed.

I lost my home because of this degree. It gave me one, ever so briefly to take it away just as fast. To have a taste of freedom to loose it is the hardest scar to bear. The degree took all my savings, ate them up, meaning some weeks while I was there, earning that piece of paper I could not eat more than one meal every day. Sometimes less.

It took my health, making me ill so much through stress and the overdose of sick people around me. Every illness known to man was in those lecture halls. I spent the entire degree with a cold and at least 2 flu's a year. Constant headaches, insomnia and yet a lack of being able to get up in the morning ruined my health. No friends, complete isolation and endless late nights doing homework while trying to speak to people on the internet, the only social contact outside uni or my family I could have, ruined my well being within myself. The constant failings no matter how hard I tried ruined what was left of my self esteem and during those dark nights I slowly became insane. I became what I had to to survive those days. If the course, which was full of girls, became bitchy (a daily occurrence) I had to become bitchy to survive. I lost a lot of my morality to that degree, a lot of the things I said I wouldn't do or say were obliterated in the grim harsh reality of the dark university. I soon lost myself.

With the coming of this certificate, I don't feel any smarter. I don't feel as though I have accomplished anything at all. If anything, I feel a keen sense of anger any time I am reminded that I own it. When the question was "Did I want to attend the ceremony to receive it, or get it in the post" like it was junk mail, the answer was simple, post. I did not want pictures of myself with it, and it in all likelihood that will not occur, no matter the pleading from family. However, the one thing the family has said which comes through clear as day is that I am not allowed to burn it. To them, that piece of meaningful shit is worth something. So it rules out the burning of the actual document.

I like the thought of burning however, as fire has always held meaning to me. It has a cleansing power beyond everything else. No matter how diseased your crops are, if they are consumed in fire the disease will be removed. Yes, it is deadly, a dangerous element which cannot be trusted. It causes pain just as easily as joy, but then, so many things in life do. It has the power to hypnotise and enthrall, it causes death and birth (some plants need fire to produce seeds) and most of all it ruins and creates.

So how shall I get my burning without pissing everyone off? An effigy will have to suffice I suppose. But even in effigy there will be a releasing of demons and I shall be able to truly forget the evil of that degree. And with that burning, I can finally move forward.

Follow up

2010-07-29T14:24:00.003+09:30

We got our grades and I passed with flying colours!!! We got them on the same day as my last post, and it was concluded that the only reason we got them was simply because of the threats which had been levelled, and our suplementary exams being cancelled. They don't like it when they are told off, and when they can't screw over students.

But that's it. Never have to deal with that crappy University ever again. I've graduated their course with no job prospects and no future. Amazing that. Now I have to get another degree just to get employed.....

Stupid lying University.

Intelligence... not as great as one would assume

2010-07-21T15:43:00.003+09:30

At a university one comes to expect certain things, like the high level of intelligence of the people teaching them, their compassion and the understanding that the majority of those working in the higher levels of the university were once students of a university. As such, one would assume, falsely, that the people in charge of their course, their degrees and in a perverse way, their lives would be filled with a level of understanding, as we have all at some point suffered under a power hungry jerk. Some people will always be corrupted by the power they wield. They suffered and as such, now someone else will also suffer. Some are altered over time, slowly but surely having their compassion removed at the same time they loose touch with reality. To some, power does not corrupt at all. They resist the temptation to do evil, remember how it feels to be at the mercy of someone and instead teach as they would have loved to be taught, taught with compassion.

Unfortunately, Biochemistry attracts the former over the latter.

Biochemistry as a subject is a component of my degree. I understand its inclusion. It is indeed very vital to understand and be able to apply in all facets of my qualifications. The problem does not lie in that it must be taught, but rather how it is taught.

The year I initially did biochemisty, it had a very strong metabolism focus which aided us all tremendously in the later year of our degree. However, the way it was graded and set up made it so intense many failed. There was a rumour that 80% of my compatriots failed that year. That was the rumoured fail rate for people in my stream of biochem. Painful, in fact so painful they decided to remodel the course for the next year. I was, unfortunately amongst the 80%, however I decided to skip redoing the subject the next year, picking to instead do it at the very end of my degree, allowing it to be my sole focus. The subject underwent a large change. Renamed, pre-requisites changed, locations, lecturers, etc, the whole works. And this appeared to work to a point as the fail rate was apparently not as high that next year. However, it was still too high and more was done to alter the course.

Enter the year I did it for the second time, this year. It was entirely different to the year I originally did it. I almost did not make it in the subject due to the pre-requisite change. To be honest, I never was told if I was permitted to do the subject without the new pre-requisites. That's a fight I am preparing for. It should have acted as a massive "watch out, people who run this don't know what they're doing". I noted it, but ignored the level of the stupidity which should have served as that warning of events to come.

This year was full of "radical" "new" ideas, ideas which other subjects have been using and refined for years, but to biochemistry were so amazingly new it hurt them to implement it. 2 exams instead of the 1 crippling event, making that 70% on the exam a little less painful. Practicals every second week, tutorials as written questions with a tutor to aid you. Revolutionary! 2 practical tests instead of the one fail worthy exercise. Almost seemed to good to be true. One lecturer even gave us appropriate questions to expect, and some of those questions were accurate! Such large changes, such evolution since that first year of fail. Too good to be true. They can't have actually learned from their mistakes. Surely not!

They hadn't. The first term of tutorials were full of problems. Tutorial questions which made no sense, the man who wrote them, our first lecturer and subject coordinator, repeatedly called a dickhead, arsehole and other unsavory terms by his appointed tutors. Entire questions were wiped out by the tutors who said they made no sense, and that only an idiot could have written them. The revision for the first exam was released and it lead people in the wrong direction. Told them to learn things which were not in the actual exam and based an entire question on a textbook which we were not supposed to have read. The actual exam came and the level of detail required was insane. It also contained far too many questions for the time slot and the practical exam afterwards even had a calculation no one had ever seen before, let alone known to learn.

It was horrible. Later that day I had an assessed practical to do, straight after my exam. It was a hard day. When we went to the tutorial the week after, we were given questions which would have aided us in our exam, had we received them earlier. When we asked why we were getting them now we were told a horrible reason; the subject coordinator has put them in to make sure he can use whatever material he wants in the next exam. You may be examined on the same stuff again.

The outcry was immense. Screaming could be heard across the university. Many in tutorials had walked out, refusing to play any part into the evil that had been unleashed. We had all suddenly realised we could not trust this mans word further than we could throw him.

Grades were released and we soon learned that 3/4 of my tutorial group had failed by a significant amount. The girl I knew was also repeating received around 30% on that exam. My 49% suddenly seemed like a badge of honour. I had almost passed it. It was one of the highest scores I knew. Brilliant.

We received the one lecturer in the course, our degree coordinator, the one person with compassion. She made her part of the subject easier, nicer, possible to pass. She struggled hard to ensure we were all happy, and all loved her. She released questions for the exam, revision questions but still, they were relevant! The second exam was not easy, but not as bad as the first.

So we assume.

I had thought for a moment there that I could put biochem behind me. Boy was I wrong.

The week after our exam (28th June) we were told a meeting was planned amongst faculty to discuss marks on the 12th July, and results would be released on the 13th-14th. So we waited. Come the 15th, still no results. On the 16th we receive an email from the one woman in the subject who cared, the one who taught us so nicely. She was saying by the end of day she would have our marks released. At 5pm we received another email bemoning her lack of power, saying at least the sup had been pushed back and we would get our results Monday, 19th. Monday came, no results. Tuesday brought a reason. So many had failed that marks had to be adjusted so we all had to wait a touch longer. So wait we did. Today, 7am, came an email which has shattered me. The woman who fights for us is loosing strength and has to leave the country for a conference. It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one who is loosing sleep and health over this, but it hurts to see the desperation in her tone. She has decided there will be no supplementary exams for anyone. At least not at this time. Not even medical sups, simply because we have no grades. Her words say our next deadline the best;
"Last Friday, I said that I “hoped” you would have the marks by this Monday. Well, that hope has turned to fear."
Her own words, and she then goes on to state she doesn't expect our grades to be released by the time she comes back.

In August.

My hope has indeed turned to fear, for yet another reason. This is my final subject for this degree and I plan on getting another degree next year. For that I need an official transcript to prove I've done this degree and show what I exactly did.

Problem. In it's infinite wisdom, the university is shutting down the facilities to order, pay for and get official academic transcripts for an undisclosed amount of time. Starting, you guessed it, August. I need my grades before they close that facility.

Some people at university remember what it used to be like for students. Some are intelligent and have undergone university itself. To change our grades, all they must do is alter one or 2 numbers in a giant excel spreadsheet. I can do that in a minimal amount of time, 2 days at the absolute tops. How does changing a number in a spreadsheet take a month? Only one member of the faculty has cared enough to fight our cause. Only one has emailed us updates whenever she had them. One. No one else appeared to care enough to inform us of what was happening and still expected us to do a sup without grades. Now, other schools on the campus which are legendary for their lack of ability to give grades to their students will have grades well before we do, and that is simply not good enough.

Biochemistry, you are a disgusting subject. You pride yourself on your high fail rate, think yourself prestigious. You demand so much from students, yet give so little feedback in return. The entire subject needs to be burned to the ground and a completely fresh subject raised in its place. The people who manage this subject are a joke. The people who mark this subject are also laughable. The university where I did this abhorrent piece of shit is beyond a joke and trust me when I say they don't give a shit.

Loath is a hard word to use, a powerful word. I use it now. I loath this subject.

Never, ever trust universities or anything called biochemistry.

2009-11-03T23:25:00.002+10:30

At the same time as starting uni, I started a job in retail. While being at this job, I have seen a wide range of customers, varying between the nicest people you will ever meet and complete and utter idiots, the type where you wonder how they manage to dress themselves. The latter customers are often comprised with people who will scream at you because of their ignorance, but they are everywhere. No, the story I am going to share with you is of a prize idiot who even made my managers crack up laughing and look more than a little horrified.

The "hero" of our story, a middle aged man, balding, fat decided to approach the registers where I was covering the long suffering register girls break. This "casanova" decided he was most certainly a gift from the gods to woman kind and could charm me enough to gain something. This is more than a little horrifying when you realise that most of my coworkers and the customers think I'm still in high school..........

Idiot customer: Hi
Me: Hi.
IC: I'd like to buy this. (holds up plastic containers)
Me: Sure. (Scans item) That's $24.95
IC: There's a sign just over there for $9.95
Me: (sighs on the inside and looks over the counter at the sign) Sir, I'm afraid that that's for the other item, right next to where you picked this up from. It clearly states its for a 3 piece set by X brand while this is by Y brand and is 10 pieces.
IC: Oh. (Begins to attempt to flirt with me, leaning provocatively against the counter, trying what I assumed was a sexy face while sliding over a $10 note)
Me: Do you still want this?
IC: Yes. (Pushes the money closer)
Me: This is $10. The item costs $24.95.
IC: I'm sure that you could do this for me, just once. Say you scanned the wrong item.
Me: Uhm, no. I can't.
IC: Sure you can.
Me: I'm afraid I can't do that.
IC: It's just a few dollars. Just change the price. I know you can. (Starts to bat his eyelids)
Me: (holding back vomit) I don't have the codes (I would have said this even if I did, but not having them just meant I had plausible deniability). I would have to call over my manager.
IC: No you don't. You can do this.
Me: (debating how long it would take for me to dive to the phone and what words I could say to make the acting manager run like the wind towards the tils) I. Do. Not. Have. The. Codes. I'm sorry, but I would need to call my manager.
IC: Come on. Everyone steals from their workplace. Everyone does it. It's just a few dollars and they wont even notice.
Me: (blinks wide in surprise. Inside thinks, WTF??????!!!!!!!!!?????????? he so didn't just say that) I'm sorry. I'm not going to change the price without my manager. I can't change the price. He is the only one with the codes. I can call him if you want.
IC: (looks at the line mounting behind him with other customers looking at him like he's a freak) No. I won't take this.
Me: Who's next. (idiot scurries away)

As soon as I was relieved I told one manager what had happened and how the idiot told me to just "steal from my workplace 'coz everyone does it". She cracked up laughing and rushed me over to the other manager telling him he just had to hear it. His look of utter horror amongst his laughter said the real story. If it had been someone on the tils who was less experienced than me and faaaaaaaar less cynical and stubborn, then a deal could have been made which could have resulted in a poor young register girl loosing her job for stealing because some idiot sweet talked her into giving him a lower price. It horrified me that this man thought he could get away with it, and that batting his eyes and leaning suggestively would "blow my mind" enough for him to gain things for far less.

When you receive crap customer service, or think that the girls behind the til are bitching away for no reason whatsoever, remember the idiot customer. While hes the first person to tell me to steal from my shop (My job supplies me money, which secures me shelter and food. I ain't blowing that for some douche to get a few dollars off a crappy set of plastic containers, even if he was the living embodiment of sex, which as a fat, balding middle aged man he clearly wasn't), I have to deal with so many idiot customers a day, all of which are snipping at me, pointing at me and telling their children to stay in school or this is where they'd end up (I'M AT UNI! I have a higher education than the morons pointing and staring. I'm doing this so that I can afford my degree, because unlike the idiot pointing I'm not just dropping a kid for centrelink cheques). This makes me crabby, cynical and hate before I've even met you or heard your latest complaint about how you can't read a sign or about how the guy down in electrical didn't bend over and allow you to spank him. And to be truly honest, I don't care. With a passion.

I have a million more stories, most of which would horrify you. Remember, the holidays are coming up. If you annoy me at the start of a 12 hour shift, well, that's 11 hours of you getting ignored and told that "I refuse to do that". If you want customer assistance these holidays, remember the long suffering university students, the high school graduates waiting for a better job and the wise workers who have been working in retail so long they don't remember not being in a shop. These people have to deal with everyone's crap, and listen to seriously horrible Christmas carol tapes while they're at it.

Don't screw with me these holidays. I will not stand it.

Pop

2009-06-08T23:42:00.003+09:30

I just read my dad's post on this, and I felt compelled to write a bit myself.

My pop died. That should be a phrase which causes me to burst into tears, curl into fetal position and never leave the house, but it doesn't. Strange really as I cried for ages over a dog, and still occassionally mist up and this is a man who was my father' father, but really, I'm scarily fine. I feel nothing.

Basically, I never knew the man. He lived in another state when I was a child and we never saw him, but we had a replacement in my Nana's husband, a man who is always there and cares about myself and my brother greatly. This doesn't mean I don't have any memories of pop though. As a child I would recieve gifts and a letter from my pop's wife for my birthday, but this stopped on my 7th bithday when we recieved a letter saying he was in the hospital. Mum quietly conveyed to me that he'd had a heart attack and was very sick in the hospital. When we didn't recieve another letter, I wrote him off. He'd died as far as we knew and so that's what I assumed.

A talk years later with my father changed that. He said pop was still alive and kicking. Again, I felt nothing. I forgot about him again until I recieved a card from him, asking how I was forwarded through his step-daughter when I was 16. This card made me feel conflicted, as I realised 2 things with this card; 1. He was still alive and who was this man, and 2. why hadn't he asked about my brother or sent him a card, and why hadn't he contacted us before? These thoughts conflicted but eventually my procrastinating self won out, and I never replied.

The next I heard of him, my step-aunt rung me up to say he was dying and that he wanted to speak to me. At this point, I felt curious and a bit of pity. This caused me to say yes, yes I would speak to him to satisfy my curiousity and to ensure that an old man was at peace if the end was near. It was when I spoke to him that he asked about my brother, to which I said he was ok, and it was the first time he had shown any interest in my younger brother in my life. This annoyed me slightly, as he had 2 grandkids through my father, but he hadn't even put any effort into contacting one, sending him a letter or anything.

We ended up speaking twice, and to this day I still don't feel sad that I never met him, nor do I feel sad at his passing. I only hope that the old man didn't suffer unnecessary pain at the end, just as I would any other stranger.

Remembering Bonnie

2009-03-15T20:52:00.004+10:30

Saturday the 7th March was just like any Saturday when I have to work all day. It began not so well, as the universes schemes has forced me to loose a prime homework night the night before, but this was a minor issue. Something to be annoyed about sure, but not any great hassle. So asides from being annoyed at work (something which happens anyway at work. Some customers make you want to scream) the day occurred as per usual. I worked all day, got into my car and drove home, ate some food and rested my aching feet. As I was debating as to what to watch that night, I received a telephone call which changed that day dramatically.

It was my brother, hysterically crying on the phone to me. Bonnie, our 9 year old Miniature Poodle had suddenly died.

As per usual, my brother and mother had gone down the local dog beach with the 2 family dogs, Bonnie and Billy, a 2 year old Spoodle. They had all had a great time, running through waves, climbing rocks, chasing balls and just generally running like loons, something both dogs absolutely adored. All of a sudden Bonnie began yelping, but quickly stopped and began to run again, causing mum to dismiss any problems with the wussy poodle. Yelping, after all, was her favourite past time. The next time she yelped however, she didn’t get back up. In fact, she stopped breathing and her heart failed. She died on the beach. As they had not parked near by, mum had to carry the rapidly stiffening beloved family pet in her arms to the car, while walking back a hysterical boy and oblivious puppy.

She was buried next to another beloved pet in their back yard.

As I live away from my mother, my brother called to inform me of what had happened. It was completely unexpected. She had been to a vet recently who had given her a clean bill of health, and asides from becoming a bit slower throughout the week, she was fit as a fiddle. So it has been decided it was either a surprise heart attack or a sting from something at the beach. Either way, she went in a desirable way, doing what she loved, running down a beach chasing a ball with loved ones.

This has hit my family hard, with all of us bursting into sobbing at very random intervals as we remember something that the poodle has done. With me, it’s remembering the quiet moments of cuddling her as she sat upon my lap. Bonnie was the ultimate lap dog and she would often climb legs like a cat, digging in her little claws to clamber onto a lap, curling up tight and demanding pats. The little black dog was smaller than some other mini poodles, and thought of herself as a human being. Maybe even master of the house.

This loss has caused me to look through old photo albums which contain her to help me remember and grieve. The one containing the most pictures of her starts oddly enough with my dad pelting a cricket ball at one of my camps, a ball which seems to have been bowled by Harvey Jolly, the father of one of the boys on my camp. All of us girls have scattered as the ball has been lobbed off the picture screen. The other photo on the page is a goofy one of my grandpa wearing a crows beanie, looking quite odd. It also highlights the fact he needs a new wardrobe as he still wears that same shirt. As I flicked further through the album, I saw how much my brother had changed over the years, and that all the pets in this album are dead. Scary, as it started in 1999.

When we bought Bonnie as a puppy, she fitted in 2 cupped hands. This little black ball of fluff was aloof even then, thinking herself better than most humans. Upon meeting her parents, it was very obvious she took after her moody mother. Later on, she even began to look like her, as her coat became grey. This little ball of fluff was eagerly accepted into a household which contained 2 pet cats and a turtle (for my 7th birthday I asked for a puppy, and got a turtle.). The cats, Moggy and Sox, already established in their routines were not so impressed by this yappy black dot, which wanted to play with *shock horror* water. Moggy, who had already made her territory in the front yard, was affected very little. Sox however, as she was the younger cat, had been issued the backyard, and this is where Bonnie was released into. Sox began to live on the fence and the outdoor furniture, watching the weird ball of fluff that barked at her.

Bonnie was introduced to the Grandparents and their dog Tammy. Tammy immediately became Bonnie’s favourite toy. Tammy, a reasonably submissive dog, quickly became chewed upon and generally attacked by Bonnie, leading to a very funny incident when Tammy managed to kick Bonnie across the yard. Tammy, who had been pinned upon her back with Bonnie on her chest, gathered her back legs under the dog and kicked out, sending the puppy flying across the back yard.

Tammy died just over a year ago in tragic circumstances. As she stopped wanting to eat, the grandparents took her to the vet. The vet said there wasn’t anything wrong, gave them some pills to give her and sent them away. As Tammy grew worse they took her to another vet, who said something was very wrong and gave them different pills. The grandparents then went away on a long planned holiday, leaving Tammy with my mother. Tammy quickly grew even worse, not moving at all, not eating and then loosing control of her bowels all over the floor. Mum quickly took her to her local vet who diagnosed very advanced Cushing’s disease, saying Tammy had been displaying symptoms for quite some time, gave my mum some better pills and suggested that surgery might be the answer when Tammy became strong enough to handle it. Tammy died the next night, after she had deteriorated too much to recover. Needless to say, no-one in my family is ever using that first vet again.

After moving house from where we had been when we first got Bonnie, we moved into the grandparents place. The only serious pet occurrence to happen there was when Sox got stuck up a tree for several days leading us to believe she had gone AWOL, until she was found and rescued by a very scratched up mum, and the departure of Moggy from our lives. Moggy had been with the family since a year before I was born. She was a tough cat, willing to take on anything, like Tammy, who hated cats. Tammy and Moggy got into a scuffle, which injured both pets, however Moggy did end up worse for wear when Tammy managed to bite hard into her back leg. Moggy did get quite a bit of Tammy under her claws, so some justice had occurred. Moggy escaped from her room a short time after and never returned. The theory that she ran away to die was generally accepted, but Grandpa would insist that he would occasionally see her on his morning walks and that she had been adopted by the crazy cat lady down the street. Either way, she never came back.

We moved again, this time to a place where Bonnie and Sox became closer friends/enemies. I remember vividly one time when Bonnie decided to play with the small cat, something the cat was not amused with. One quick clawless swipe up the head later, one poodle ran inside, yelping like she’d been shot and the cat sat there, looking quite pleased with herself, guarding my feet.

Another move led to new friends for Bonnie. She was quickly introduced to Trippa, an obese, old Blue Heeler. This old dog and Bonnie quickly made a pact; you don’t get in my way, I won’t hurt you. This pact was maintained until they became solid friends. They would occasionally get visits from the mother’s ex’s parent’s dog, a tiny little partly blind and deaf terrier named Gem. Gem has also departed from this world after becoming very old. Bonnie had no problems with the smelly old dog, as it would leave after a short period of time, and therefore not worth removing from the household. As this place was a farm, I introduced to the family Baby, a Jersey calf who thought it was a dog. It would respond to commands and the cute calf watched how dogs played, and tried to emulate it. Bonnie would sprint away as Baby would run after her, thinking they were playing chasey. Bonnie however, was not playing chasey. Bonnie was terrified of the thing with big legs. Baby also had an infatuation with Sox, falling in love with the cat it shared the hay shed with. Sox was also afraid of the gangly calf, not wanting to be squished under its hooves.

Baby was, as is the fate of most farm animals, taken to the slaughter house when he was big enough. Eaten as someone’s BBQ chops, he was removed from our lives, and our beautiful calf only lives on in our minds and photos.

As Trippa was very old and ailing (she had arthritis, was very obese and suffering general old age ailments), Amber was added to our family. Amber pup immediately became attached to me and Bonnie, becoming Bonnie’s best friend. These 2 dogs were nearly inseparable, and Sox loved Amber as well. Amber was afraid of the small cat (and most other things) to the point where Sox would walk up to the dogs bowl, threaten her with a claw and eat her food, just because she could. Amber would then have to sit back and watch this happen, while hoping Bonnie would leave some food behind for Amber to pinch once she had finished. It was a highly amusing scene as the cat, which was the size of some kittens, would eat the Kelpies food while it watched on.

Trippa died, and it was again not a pleasant death. One day, the usually hungry dog simply stopped eating. For over a day. The vet was called in and advanced liver cancer was diagnosed. The very old dog was put to sleep after saying a tearful good bye to all around her to save her a painful death.

Mum moved out of the farm, leaving behind Amber, as it was not our dog in name, but taking all the other pets (save Torty the Turtle. He had died during a cold winter outdoors at the farm. There is still a lot of hate directed at one man after that incident) with her. Amber was left at her place while her owner went away for a week, so Bonnie had her playmate again briefly, and this was the week that Sox died. Sox, after having stolen Amber’s food once again the night before, and just terrorising the dogs as she always loved doing, simply meowed once one morning and died. It was suspected to be a heart attack, and was very sudden, but not unexpected when you considered how old she was at the time. She was around 14 years old, a very long life for a pampered cat, and she is still sorely missed.

Once Amber was returned to her owner, Bonnie became very lonely. With people out of the house all day, she was left alone outside, to sit and do very little. To solve this problem, Billy was bought one Christmas, and Bonnie immediately hated him. Once she realised that this annoying young male puppy wasn’t leaving, Bonnie would sit in a corner and growl whenever he would approach. He then turned it into a game which would annoy all humans. He would crawl on his stomach til he got close enough to make Bonnie growl and start barking happily at her til someone attacked him with a water pistol, which he also loved. He became mischief incarnate, and will still destroy anything which is left in his reach, or any plant which has been shown affection. The pup, which has separation anxiety, was the bane of Bonnie’s life for a while, until Bonnie realised that she could act up and the puppy would be blamed. She began with pooing in cars to watch the younger dog be yelled at, who would look confused. She would encourage him to enter the chicken pen, escape and watch as the lighter coloured dog, covered in mud would be told off for chasing the chickens and so on. She would take great delight in causing as much chaos as was physically possible, and blaming him, but they still became great companions, playing with each other and thriving on each others company.

Now that Bonnie has left us far too young, she has been buried out in the garden next to Sox, and arrangement that neither pet would have preferred in life. Our family still grieves for her, and Billy’s anxiety has increased greatly. My mum, brother and Billy came and visited me Sunday night, and the poor dog was waking us ever 2 hours, afraid that we had left him even though he could sleep in the same room as 2 of us. Every time mum went to the toilet, he would sit outside and whine until she would emerge. This poor dog who has never been alone long term before in his life is already pining for Bonnie, though this isn’t affecting his diet as he swallowed a lamb cutlet in one bite.

Never again will any of us be able to cuddle Bonnie, or even just have her comforting presence barking at neighbours walking down the street again. I will forever remember her bark, the sound of her disapproving growl and her snobby behaviour to new dogs, and to anyone who returned after having been gone for a week. She was the personal warming device at hockey, when you could just lift her up and place her in your coat. She looked great either scruffy or shaved. The amusing way she would cock her leg and squat to pee after the incident of the first shave she ever got and squatting on frosted lawns with a bald rear end. I will remember always how she could tell when you were sad, or lonely, or scared and would sit closer to you, or lie in the room. I will always remember scaring her for life with a quilt, resulting in her being afraid of quilts, but she would always sleep on a sleeping bag, taking up all the leg room and trapping you in one position. We will never forget the sprinkler when she was a puppy, when she would try to kill what was spraying water at her, to cop another burst on her chin. We will never forget her athletic ability, as she was able to catch up to cars, out run people and jump great heights. I will never forget the annoying pained yelp she would do whenever she thought she could score more pats out of patsies. I will never forget how she would eat, as every meal was amusing as to how she worked out how to fit it in her mouth. I defiantly won’t forget the puke all over the place whenever she would eat something that disagreed with her and there is a thousand more little things and moments I will never forget.

Rest in peace Puds. You have the best of company, and I know you’re chasing balls in heaven.

You will be missed and always remembered.

The kindness of strangers

2008-10-11T19:40:00.002+10:30

Thursday night I was subjected to a cruel prank, one I did not become awear of until Friday afternoon. I was the latest victim of the bin swipers. That in itself is not that big a deal. It was annoying, and pointless, but I knew where my bin had gone (the river) and they had at least been considerate enough to give me the lid, which they left on my letterbox. No, the bin I could deal with. They took it before bin day, so now all my rubbish is around the river banks, and my bin was wet and broken (and I really didn't want to go swimming to go get it). But that wasn't all they did. They put a syringe in my mail box. A used one, with the uncovered needle facing where I'd put my hand.

Now, I went to the cops, as you do, then the council, who violated their own rules to remove it for me. Then I went to warn my neighbours about syringes. All in all, it was a crappy afternoon. But then one of my neighbours did something very nice for me.

He went swimming and reclaimed my bin for me. He and his 2 friends, both in suits, went down to the river and grabbed the bin, while also taking down another bin to clean up some of the rubbish on the river bank.

While a stranger may have done this to me in the first place, a neighbour who knows nothing more than my name and a council which in reality didn't have to do anything for me fixed this crime. Just when you loose faith in humanity, people prove you wrong.

'Tis Ranting Time

2008-08-16T21:34:00.002+09:30

This post will irritate a few people. I am aware of it, but it must be said. What I say in here is thought by many and spoken by few. I, however, am in an excellent vantage point to commentate on this.

There are 2 girls at uni who get special treatment on assignments. One girl is disabled and the other is depressed. When the disabled girl gets an assignment, she does her hardest to do the assignments and hand them in on time. She warns the lecturers ahead of time if the assignment is especially difficult and hands in very high quality work. The other girl says she's depressed and has financial difficulties. She also says her mother beat her and that she was thrown out of home to suffer on her own. She says to every lecturer that she needs the special allowance on every assignment and gets into a temper when she doesn't get it. What gets me though, and the reason why I care is that she's saying she's depressed when she's really not.

How do I know this? I have spoken with witnesses and have witnessed myself her saying she has lied at least on one occasion about the depression. The period of physical abuse apparently happened during uni, yet no-one saw the bruises to her face she has said she had. But the damning evidence is that her mother pays for all her bills and visits her often, so she is hardly abandoned by her family as she suggests. She is also hardly strapped for cash, with parental support (bills, rent being payed), rent assistance and centrelink. She has $70 for food each week. Far from strapped.

Why do I care, you say. Well, I've been depressed. Suicidally so. I have been emotionally abused several times over quite a few years. I am a full time student with 2 jobs, both unpredictable with hours and pay and I am not financial. Quite frankly I have quite a few troubles in my life, some ongoing. I have confused counsellors with my mental state and I don't get special allowances, nor do I want to.

I want to prove to the world that despite my failings I can still be supreme. I have only had 1 special allowance at uni for depression, and that was during my darkest time. When I was suicidal I didn't scream it from the roof tops like she has, instead hiding it til I was told off by the people who care for me to get help. And I have seen her get these allowances on weeks when she couldn't be stuffed doing work rather than weeks when she is in mental distress and it makes me want to scream.

Now, I don't mind the disabled girl getting extensions. She tries so very hard. I don't mind people who really try and do their best, getting help when they're beaten. That's the reason for the system. But people who mess with the system like this make it worse for the rest of us. We loose out as lecturers smarten up. One day, a lecturer is going to realise what she's doing and they might not let someone who really is depressed get an extension because of her and that might kill them if they are so inclined. I refuse to sit idly by and let her screw up someone else's life, like the disabled girl's as it can also reflect on her despite medical evidence to the contrary, simply because she's slack. Already some of the people are "anonymously" tipping off authorities to her flouting the rules and that "dobbing" will continue while people get annoyed. Others, however, simmer silently.

Silence only helps those who hurt the system while people who hurt are drowned out by these loud fakers.

I will not allow the silence to continue. If she is in need of help, she should take what has been offered, like the counsellors, and not keep taking the benefits if she refuses to help herself.

No more silence.

Dear Channel 7

2008-07-18T01:10:00.002+09:30

Channel 7, I know you've hated me for some time now. My first clue was on Today Tonight. You see, I am a 19 year old uni student with her p-plates. That's pretty much your number 1 target for every expose in the history of mankind. The only thing I could do to make me more of a target is to either work in retail or be a single mum on the dole. Whoops. I work in retail too, for a big corporation. My, I am the devil aren't I.

But my big gripe is not that I am often stereotyped worse than an Italian housewife on one of your many crap programs, but rather that you have once again screwed up the only two shows I watched on your entire station; the Stargate franchise of Stargate SG1 and Stargate Atlantis.

Lets start first with your worst crime, how you have screwed up SG1 for me. I watched every season up until around season 7 on channel 7, which you consistently screwed up, starting and stopping often in the middle of the seasons. Like not playing it for 3 weeks in a row and bringing it back later without warning. But the most painful thing was when you changed the time it was on to the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT with NO advertising. This meant, as of course you did this halfway through a series, I missed the entire series. In fact, I then missed season 8. Then season 9. But wait, I did accidentally watch the very last episode of SG1, the end of I think series 10 simply because I was bored and turned on the tv in the middle of the night. Screaming in anger all the way, not knowing the 2 out of 5 characters (my actual words were along the lines of "Hey! That's the chick from Farscape! Hang on, that's the guy from Farscape! Is the whole f****n cast of Farscape on Stargate now???? WTF???") and then being told at the very end that I had successfully spoiled the entire franchise for myself, I was ropable.

But I decided to keep an eye on that spot, to see what you would do and you did not disappoint me this time. Stargate Atlantis graced my screen. At first I had been sceptical of Atlantis, but soon found myself loving it more than SG1 with the simply awesome characters and fresh new look. Every week I would stay up well beyond bed time, sometimes til 1.30am on technically Friday morning, even with uni or work the next day. It became my highlight of the week. Until this week.....

I rush home from a night at work to watch Atlantis, buying dinner for myself so I wouldn't be stuck in the kitchen getting dinner while the show was on, only to discover there was no Atlantis. My night is ruined, and before you say, DRAMA QUEEN, I cannot afford the DVD's and this is a big part of my week. I stay up late, study before it starts then turn everything off to watch it. I have become addicted and have learnt how not to sleep so I can watch it. To discover it is gone and has been replaced with Marshall Law, which quite frankly is not really that good, is annoying in the least. And to think, you have Celebrity Spelling Bee on at prime time, something I avoid like the plague as it is beyond useless to everyone on this planet and does not even entertain the lowest common denominator. If I wanted to see idiots singing I'd go to the pub and watch drunken singing, which is far more entertaining than your show.

Now I know you don't care, but hey, thanks for making life easier for me. I'll now sleep and wait til Christmas, when I'll be payed more then buy the DVD's, and then eliminate my need for channel 7 entirely. But hey, if theres no reason to watch channel 7 now anyway, why watch it? Buy channel 7. Hope your advertisers like it when all the devoted sci-fi fans rack off.

For Austin

2008-07-08T22:57:00.002+09:30

Our darling Austin, the reason for Super Austin, recently gave us all quite a scare. Basically he ended up in an emergency vet with me on the phone to a very distressed Blondie. Many dogs die from bloat and he had it. Now he's okay, which means instead of worrying about him, the blonde one instead hassles me, and as she has my mobile number, here is her story. Have fun with this poorly written 10 second story for our Austin with characters only really known to friends.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hospitals are horrid places, Bonnie thought. Full of antiseptic and death. It was however, one of the few rare times they all got together. Of late it seemed the only time they all saw each other was at a funeral and this left her feeling depressed. With any luck they would all be seeing the weakened hero who had been poisoned alive, poorly but alive, very soon rather than committing yet another to the earth. She looked around her to see the others waiting in the room. Austin had many friends and they had all wanted to come, but it had been stressed, his closest friends only were permitted to stay. This meant that she had had a handy excuse for getting rid of the terrible twins, exiling them into the corridor. Billy had remained, sitting quietly and sedately at her side, an odd occurrence for the pup. It was a stark reminder how this life was aging them all. The once exuberant youth had been impossible to tame, but now life had changed him into a mature young dog. The twins she had sent outside were young and uncontrollable just like he had been, and herself she remembered, but she knew that too soon they would be shown just how horrid the life was. Tammy had been a stark reminder of how quickly and surprisingly life can change. In fact, her funeral would have been the last time Bonnie had seen Austin.

Damn. How had they drifted apart? They used to be such friends. Not necessarily good friends, but Austin was one of the few dogs that truly got her outside of her family. She thought of the twins again. Hell, he was one of the only dogs that got her full stop. If he were to die….. No. Thoughts along that line were detrimental to everyone. Happy thoughts. He would get through this. He was Super Austin for cripes sake. Poisoned food was no where near enough to take him out. She forced herself to look at the rooms other occupant. Jessie. Someone she had never met before today yet had heard so much about. This new superdog was famous for her acrobatic abilities, and Austin had said she was a very reliable partner when they met up. But Bonnie had never met her. The distance, she mused. She had forced a distance between herself and the world ever since Amber when she thought about it. Billy had only just had some success bringing her back into life in the world, but Austin was truly gifted that way. When he asked, she found herself giving which for her was extremely odd.

The wait was killing them all. Jessie had started to shake, making her look nervous and Billy was chewing his tail. He paused then spoke aloud into the previously silent room, a joke for just Bonnie.
“Remember when Kat gave me that haircut recently? I was bald and patchy for a month til it grew out.”
She smiled and Jessie looked confused. It was a truly amusing memory. Once Kat had got hold of the scissors, she had hid behind the couch, leaving behind her protégé who had promptly suffered a most terrible fate. At least he kept most of his leg she mused. It was then the door opened and a teary Lauren emerged. They all jumped to their feet, eagerly awaiting any sort of news.
“He’s going to be weak for some time, but he’s going to be fine.”

Relief flooded the room as she went back in to be with her beloved pet. Bonnie sighed in relief, then turned to leave the room. Billy started to follow her as Jessie called out, “Where are you going? Don’t you want to see him?”

Bonnie smiled. “He knows I was here. I want to get who poisoned him, and end them.” And they disappeared into the night, taking the twins with them, to hunt down El Manuel and show him the real meaning of justice. Their way.

Rain and Anzac Day

2008-04-21T20:30:00.002+09:30

Maybe its the lack of oxygen to my brain by my stuffy work shirts, maybe its the rupture of blood cells in my brain from screaming too much but when I heard the Anzac Day weather forecast I began contemplating the many theories behind such an occurrence of rain on a public holiday. I decided there were 3 main theories which I share with you now.

One, the most boring, was that the pressures are moving in such a way that rain will occur. This, I dismissed however, as a boring idea, not worthy of much thought. In retrospect, I may in fact be nuts to dismiss this theory but still.

The next theory is far more profound. This theory involves the idea that those who die can watch over the living and that our dead ANZACS are watching over us and it also incorporates the other radical idea that the old ANZACS actually care about the living. As we are in a period of drought, rain is always much needed, the more the better. This would mean that the ANZACS who watch over us at God's right hand can see the suffering and have decided that on this day in which we honour their sacrifices that they would give us a gift, rain.

The last theory, and this is the one i put the most weight in, is that my mother is going camping that weekend and that by the divine rule of camping, it must rain. To which I laugh, as I'm not going camping in the rain this weekend.

The controversial story

2008-02-29T19:25:00.002+10:30

The following is a story I did in year 9 for English. Friends who were in that class that day know the full story, but the basic gist was that I wrote a story for an assignment in year 9, which was first submited as a draft to be editted by the teacher and given back to me. I edited it again, then gave it to my Grandma and kept re-writing it until it she was happy with it. I then re-edited it and re-submitted it as a final, polished copy.

It was at this point the crap hit the fan.

Bare in mind this, I had no love for the teacher. English is a subject I have always loved, so I put in many hours per assignment, but when she started assessing assignments based on their artistic qualities (something I'm not skilled at) rather than the literay skill, I went boonta. She single handedly nearly put me off english. In fact, it was only the encouragement of friends that inspired me to continue with the course.

So when a creative short story assignment arrived, I did it and enjoyed it. As I've said, many hours were put into it and a very polished final copy was presented to the teacher. What I didn't know at the time was that she had decided to extend the due date of the assignment, and that she had decided that she wanted students to hand up 2nd drafts if they had the time. Bare in mind she never said this to anyone in the class, she simply decided this on the due date. So, I hand up my assignment and sit back down, pleased as punch. I'd finished with time to spare for chatting with friends, editing their stories and continuing on new ones. It was at this point that the teacher called me up to the desk and decided to start re-editing IN FRONT OF ME. That was it. I lost it. Especially considering she was re-editing her edits and she had nearly re-written the first draft.

I had a hissy fit. I broke into hysterical sobs and just walked away. But, unlike a certain year 12 health teacher later, she showed respect and promised to mark the copy I handed up, and left me be so my friends could look after me. The incident became legend (many wished they did the same thing. When I got her the next year she respected me enough to accept my final copies without remarking them.) and the story faded into nothing. Until this post. This is the final copy. It is dark and depressive but I think its okay. Here it is.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a simple day. Some might have described it as a beautiful day, with the sun floating like a golden daisy against the pale blue tissue paper that is the sky. But I have a few words for those people…… maybe I shouldn’t say them here or now. Those people are eloquent, and live in a fantasy world, not the real one.
I live in the real world.
Those people have jobs, families that are always eating dinner together, and never have fights.
My family was real.
Those people always get their own way, and wear clothes which fit, and know that when they wake up, the world will be complete. They won’t wake up in the gutter. They won’t experience the sensation of not having food for weeks.
They will wake to know someone loves them, that someone gives a damn.
That is not me.
I am real.

Trucks have always moved fast. They’re big, with tyres which are very unforgiving. I forget the girl who didn’t get out the way in time. She was, as I remember, new to this life. Her blond hair had not yet changed from it’s white gleam to a brown-black, from lots of nights without a wash, and sleeping on the bitumen. Her pale blue eyes were filled with a longing, for warmth and comfort, which could not be given. Her slight build made it almost impossible for the driver to see her lying there, in the way, before it was too late.
Not that he cared. It wasn’t his daughter who had run away from home, sleeping in the ally.
Did he see her? Would he have tried to stop if he had seen her?
Who knows?!?
The truck was from BI-LO. It’s yellow and red sides barely moved up, she was too small to even be considered a speed hump to this monster! After a while, you get tough. Feelings just, don’t exist. But things like that get you down in the dumps. The only thing that stops you from going at a truck like that with your little teeth, and scratching the side of this atrocity, is the cold comfort that, unlike your mouth after that debacle, she was sound asleep, and probably didn’t feel a thing.

I am sleeping with some people who, like me, are real. Others call us bums. My statement in all us bum’s defence is that, we were once like them. Our rags once fitted nicely on our bodies. In fact, I can’t say much about the others, mine were the hight of fashion. My rags consist of old denim jeans, which were, not now, a pale faded blue, with flares. Now the flares are ripped all around, and the colour now is something of a dark mud. The colour’s okay, but I liked them better before. Oh, I forgot! They had pale brown feathers skirting the bottom. They have, of course, long fallen off. I only have one rip in them so far.
I knew a girl who wore trakkies when she ran. She doesn’t have any pants at all, any more. My t-shirt was a beautiful thing. It was a aqua colour, which flowed like the waves, in swirls with a slightly greener colour. It’s in a better shape now, than my jumper. That, I just picked that up from somewhere. I don’t remember anything, or have anything from my life from before.
Wait! I have a locket! That’s all. It’s old and silver. The chain is linking swirls of gold and silver, and the locket itself is silver, with two doves flanking the love heart. It’s jammed shut, so I can’t see the photo’s from inside, but I know that something is there. Sometimes you just have that feeling.
But I was talking about my fellow real peoples. We are lying together near a fire. Old Joe started it out of a pizza box, so it won’t last long. We are all the old hands, the newbies normally don’t last the week.
Joe suddenly is yelling, “TRUCK!” We all move. The vehicle stops, and a man jumps out. I look him up and down. He is wearing clothes that are relatively worn out, crumpled as if he hadn’t changed for a few nights. His hair was brown, and shaggy. He had a week old stubble and his eyes were bloodshot. His eyes were like that girls, searching for something. For someone. Not just that, they looked alike!
“I need your help.” His voice sounded desperate. I creep back further. “Please!” He was sounding more and more desperate. “I’m looking for someone.” I step forward. “Please!” He mutters once more. He shuts his eyes a little. I hear a voice from the car. It’s a woman’s. “Come back Jim. She’s not here!” The voice reminds me of something. Before I can think what, it’s gone.
“I can help.” Why did I say that? They have people that love them, that they love. They have clothes that fit, and food to eat, and beds to sleep in. why do I care?!? “Who are you looking for?” My voice is harsh, from lack of speech.
“She’s about ten. I have been looking for three years, so she would be ten now. Ten and five months,” Jim was stumbling over his words.
“I need more than that!”
“She is a white blond, with blue eyes. She’s skinny normally, so she would be even thinner now,” Jim described a nightmare of mine.
“I can take you to her, but I warn you, you may not like what you see,” no Jim, you won’t.

I take Jim and his missus’ to the last place I saw her alive. “I last saw her here.”
“Where is she then? You said you would take us to her!” Jim’s missus was frantic.
“I last saw her here,” I repeat, “But I did move her.”
“What do you mean, you moved her?”
“She was hit by a BI-Lo supply truck.”
How can you say it? It’s extremely hard. Jim’s girlie starts to cry. Jim doesn’t look much better.
“The driver didn’t give a damn, but for some reason, I did. So I took her to the most beautiful place I could think of, to spend her eternal life.”
I move to take them there, then I realise that feeling I felt before, it was ……
home.

I take them to the rock. It’s a wondrous place, looking over the sea. Seagulls fly over above, and I’m filled with a sense of peace. I wonder, how would it be to float above the never ending waves, with the same pattern above you. It must be bliss to ride upon those silver wings, with the orange feet that only exist to catch a slimy, colourful, or dull, meal.
I show them the stone, and I wonder, is there such a place as hell? I think of the life I could have had. I just think about all the people that have never experienced what I have. To wake up is either a blessing or a curse, I have never worked that out, but at the moment, I don’t care. I am not suicidal, just carefree. As I stand on the stone, I think, will I go to heaven, if there is such a place, or will I have to live among this for the rest of my eternal life? I don’t think about much, but now I do.
My life flashes before me.
The time I was walking in the rain, looking up at that window of warmth, thinking is there a pompous billionaire in that window, his fat, red cheeks looking angrily in the opposite direction? Or is it a slight man working his wages for his family? Either way, they were dry, and I was wet. And if they were looking out of the window, what would they see? Would they see a bum out in the rain, wet and miserable? Or would they see a young girl, stranded, lost, looking for something, or someone, out in the rain? And would they see in her eyes a longing for a comfort that could not be filled?
I hope the latter with both.
I look at the girls’ parents, say good bye, and jump.
I feel the wings of freedom, and I am flying! I feel the embrace of the sky around me, then the coolness of the water, comforting me, lulling me to sleep.

A new year

2008-01-08T16:06:00.001+10:30

New years. It is highly overrated in my books but it is a time for change, a time for broken resolutions and ultimately, the time when enrollment opens for a new year of uni. This year has already promised to be a big one from the moment of its conception.

I have just completed the highly frustrating and confusing task of enrolling online. It is the only way one can enrol anymore and it is so confusing a person can suffer brain damage trying to work it out. The email we all received from our course coordinator didn't exactly help as she worded it in such a way that I'm now worried that I may have just accidentally enrolled into a maths degree. But the enrollment sheet says I did it correctly so I'll just have to work out when I have to go back.

Speaking of puppy dogs, the year doesn't promise to be wholly crap as I may be soon caring for a certain retired work dog called Peanut. A loving, sweet 13yr old pup, he is as loyal as he is insane, a prefect mix for me. But how can I have a dog when my father's blog so clearly describes cats, you may say.

Simple. I'm taking the plunge. I'm moving out. It proves to be an interesting experience and before I get yet another lecture about how tough it will be, yes, I am awear there may be some weeks there where I'm eating crusts because I don't have enough cash. I'm looking towards the positives of moving out, not those negatives.

I now have my P's. Beware all other motorists!!!!! Just kidding. I'm yet to have an accident and I drive more like a granny than a hoon, so really I should be quite safe.

My congrats go to Blondie who has been offered a place in Medicine at Uni. Imagine, back in those slow chem classes where poor Heathy thought we'd end up. Certainly not in Animal Science and in Medicine, like we have.

And that is it for the new year. I hope all of you have a year half as interesting as mine appears to be.

Exams

2007-11-14T10:59:00.000+10:30

Ahh, exams. How happy we would be if we were without them. Out of the 4 annoying exams I have (1 per subject) only the 1 hour open "book" exam remains and arranging my "book" is slowly driving me insane.

The reason this "book" for my open book exam is giving me trouble is because it really isn't a book. The whole subject is an online course, where there are no lectures to attend or any contact with the people in charge. This can be awesome (an extra few hours to yourself a week) and it can also be absolute crap. As it is casually assumed in this day and age that everyone has high speed broadband access (they've actually made it so you can't pass uni without it), it is expected that everything you use is online based and that can lead to problems, say like when ones internet is on the fritz. At present moment, the main house computer is having issues with itself and as such refuses to load up a single pdf file. Guess what is the universal file used by Adelaide Uni and several other scientific journal sources? That though can be overcome thanks to me being smart enough to get internet for my lappy, which is not on the fritz.

All would be well if that was the only problem but no, it is not. Some of the journal articles DON'T EXIST. That's right, these handy dandy net based journals haven't put all of their issues on the net, or better yet they're there, you just have to pay a $50 subscription fee to view it.

My screams can be heard in Alaska.

But wait, it gets better. This (and I make up nothing) is an actual statement attached to my work by the course coordinator in the list of articles we need for our exam; (Note that for copyright reasons this article and the article by G. Thompson on Australian Bat Lyssavirus cannot be made available concurrently as separate articles in the catalogue. However, the journal itself is available to you.)

Now, how am I supposed to get the journal article if we physically cannot be saved. I swear the man who runs this course has peanuts for brains. So that is my day and if you hear a nasty swear word screamed in a high pitch voice wherever you may be, it is probably me.

Blondie saga 10000

2007-09-27T14:01:00.000+09:30

After a while I get tired of my friends either a) believing they know everything about me or b) feeling that they are indestructible, which leads to me having the most incredible urge to mess with their reality. One such person who I mess with is the long suffering Blondie. I met Blondie in year 9, which was some time ago now, and now and again she quite stupidly forgets that I like to mess around with people's brains. I am also pretty sure that she thinks I can do nothing which would surprise her.

Hah!

She's just asking for it.

This year she has returned to year 12 to improve her TER score (she was probably sitting on a 70 last year. This year it's probably more of a 85-90) while I went to uni. It means that she now has new friends who have no idea what she was like last year. Then I discovered msn.

*snickers*

Blondie introduced me recently to one of her new friends. I learned how to add his name to my list of contacts and then he was on the net when she wasn't. I said nothing evil but I had an overwhelming urge to mess with her, just to remind her who she's friends with. I will quote right now the topics of that msn discussion: Chemistry, Heathy, my sleeping through year 12 chemistry and one story of another friend's funny year 11 chem story. This is the sms aftermath with Blondie. Blondie's friend will be referred to as BF.

*The sms's have been edited to preserve some sense of dignity from both parties. Lol in public is me laughing in public and people staring me.*

Me: I was bored last night and BF was on msn. Mwahahaha.
Blondie: Oh... U added him? Oh dear! What were u saying?!? I will kill u! Lol!
Me: U c, I've missed this. I like making u paranoid. Yes, I added him. Lol in public.
Blondie: What did u say 2 him? Hell tell me anyway! :-P i don't care 2 much what u said... Every1 seems 2 know! And I haven't told ppl!
Me: Every time my phone beeps I grin cause it could b u asking about what i told BF.
Blondie: Kittyman!! Tell me what u said! Please! I promise i wont kill u! Promise! Please tell me!! Hes not around here 4 me 2 ask! ;(

Blondie: Lol! I wanna know! But ill just ask him tonight... Ur evil!!!!!!

Me: I just told BF how i slept thru yr 12 chem and a kallie chem story.

Blondie: Ok then... Thats ok... But im still asking him anyway! I'm not entirely sure if I believe u! :-P

Me: Rofl!
Blondie: U are the evilest kittyman ever!!!! But hell tell me everything! Lol! He loves me more! So i can blackmail him! Lol!

I love making people paranoid. It takes very little time to do and it's so much fun.

Random thought number 87.

2007-05-31T19:20:00.000+09:30

Why is it some random person who I've never heard of, with a name like a pornstar, just added me to her list of friends on some craptastic website I don't care about?

The things I will never understand....

Fun and games

2007-04-10T16:50:00.000+09:30

On Sunday we went and watched 300. The visuals were pretty impressive but otherwise it was pretty crappy. So I forgot about and moved on with my life.

And then today I look at the new post on my new favourite web comic (it speaks to me on so many levels) called 'Bigger Than Cheeses'. The latest post about 300 just made me chuckle. Oh, and if you look at it, don't forget to read the masterful author Goon's summary. It is great.

Urgh!

2007-03-28T19:05:00.000+09:30

Tonight just proved to me why I shouldn't even attempt cooking food outside of my scope of fried egg products, packet pasta and spaghetti and this is why.

I felt like meat. This sometimes happens and as I thought of the meat I thought of the really nice potato bake the only sane person in our household makes. So I attempted to make this meal for myself. At first it was okay. There were no major fluff ups or spills until the dying minutes when I cooked the gravy.

The gravy exploded in the microwave. I followed the instructions and who knew that gravy explodes? Not me for damn sure. Half of the initial liquid suddenly replaced itself all over the internal components of the microwave, leaving me with one mess that I'm going to have to scrub off of the walls. The second mess came when I tried to serve the potato bake. It appears, in hindsight, that the potato bake could have stood to have been cooked for a leeetle longer than it was. Potato bake wasn't meant to be crunchy.

So, this foray into the kitchen has left me not only one big mess to clean but also my stomach is rebelling against the half cooked food. So now my evening is a 5 step distance from the loo.

This just enforces why I should never, ever, ever cook.

Found it!

2007-03-17T11:13:00.000+10:30

I have found my Adventures of Austin. This one was the first Adventure Austin had and the crappy drawing skills have only gotten worse over time. If it is too hard to read then just say and I shall work out what's wrong with it.

Enjoy.

I'm not dead yet.

2007-03-14T22:22:00.000+10:30

For all of those wondering, no I'm not dead, just lazy and busy. Stupid uni taking over my life. I have no social life, just a work life and a study life. This, of course, sucks.

It also puts me in a ranting mood.

To my drug addled friends who catch my bus: Sit on my lap again and die. I have had enough of idiots who think that I'm part of the seat. What does not help matters is that they are smoking something which is not tobacco. This wackie tobacco stinks. It also then transfers to my clothes. This is not good for entering prac rooms or work places with a 0 tolerance on drugs. I am also sleep deprived. Red eyes and funny smells equal me being upset.

Second, I don't care what planet you are from Mr Chem Lecturer. It does not take 6 lectures to explain the s and p subshells. I can do it competently in 3, tops. Also, it is kinda helpful if you talk about the material we actually use in our pracs. Moles are not subshells.

To the ag idiot I get tomorrow, my course is ANIMAL science. We split our ag class from the ag students LATER. THEY need to know about crops, NOT me. Talk about crops in 2 weeks time when we split!!!!!!!

Oh, and if we want the obesity epidemic to end, make health food cheaper. I can buy a meal for $5 or under, complete with drink, if I don't want to live beyond 20. If I want food that is good for me, well that costs $6 and upwards. Make good food cheap, and also introduce communal microwaves at universities. Then I can eat food from Woolies, which is cheap AND healthy, without killing my teeth on frozen peas.

The good thing about uni is that when I am bored and have time to spare I think or I draw. I am a bad drawer but I can do a sometimes okay stick figure. And my spare time (before my lectures start) has led to me remembering year 11. Year 11 was a year of boredom. When it was challenging, it was great. When it was impossible (chem) it was bad. When it was easy, you had better believe it, it was simpler than breathing and just as dull so it quickly became necessary to entertain onself and ones friends. This role came to me, the most bored yet the writer of the group. My love of the site FanFiction had me writing stories for friends so they could live out their fantasies with certain characters. But that wasn't enough.

Blondie, a good friend of mine, happened upon the purchase of a new dog. This in itself was unremarkable but rather what dog she purchased.

He is a Great Dane named Austin.

He was 3/4 of the size of one of our friends. He comes up to just above my waist when he's on all fours.

Problem. He thinks he's a lap dog and he likes to hug like a human. I can tell you from experience, that thing when he's on his hind legs is taller than me. He is also a coward.

But I digress. He became my muse, and The Adventures of Austin was born. My geekiness shone clear by making it similar (not the same. There are several differences) to Superman. He is called Super Austin, is larger than a house and helps his owner, Blondie to fight menaces, ranging from small yappy dogs to teachers that irritated people that week. And boy were there some great demises! But wait, I love to add depth to things without completing the original and that was how the ambitious plan of a super pet league was born, involving all of my friendship groups pets. This however was abandoned before completion when exams happened. It was never completed.

Now, in my spare time I draw a crappy spinoff involving my own little cretins (okay, they're mums dogs) called Bonnie and Billy. It is so much a ripoff of Batman and Robin it is not funny but it is very much the personalities of these pets. The idea for this spinoff is nothing new. It was devised back in the Super Austin league days but since then there has been minor changes.

First, ma split from devil boy. He kept the beloved Amber pup and we kept our dog Bonnie (I say we should have had both. We trained Amber, she's named after my friend and she acted like she was my dog. Who did she greet first when we walked through the door? Me.). Amber was going to be Robin, Bonnie Nightwing and Sox, my cat who had them all under control, Batman.

Sox passed this year. She was 14 and is sorely missed. To replace the hole left by both Sox and Amber Ma bought Billy. Billy, a young idiot, became Robin and Bonnie is more a Batman than any creature on the planet. She hates everything. And that became my spinoff. Crappily drawn with me in the background, a stick figure, who keeps hurting herself on gates and attacking evil chicken.

Why tell you this? Well this is my plan. To make up for the fact I have written no stories, I will dig up Austin's Adventures and subject you to my crappy pictures. I will then eventually scan my Bonnie and Billy work for you all to say, "My gosh, this is really quite bad drawing. A pin could draw better," and we will all laugh.

Must flee. The brain has melted. Toodles.

Sweet mercy

2007-01-17T07:43:00.000+10:30

I got news which I just had to share. Before I completed high school last year I applied for Uni. It is a slow, annoying wait between every little tidbit of information which informs you of your success or failure. You have to wait seemingly forever to just hear your year 12 score! Well, I found out my score and then looked at it analytically. I got 60.25. This is no great score and made me wonder. At the start of year 12 I worked out my grades and discovered that there was no possibility to get my dream job as a vet. I ruled it out. El finito. The scores you needed to get to get into uni was just too high. It could be as high as 98.9 or as low as 96. You may have noticed my score, a good 30 plus below this score. So it was ruled out.

My next choice involved kidlets. I decided to be a primary school teacher. Those grades were far more accomplishable and I felt I could be happy in that sort of job. Those scores are as low as 70 or 65. With the demand changes for the course being so weird I felt I could make it. Last night at 6 we could log on and find out.

I didn't make it. No teaching for me.

Because you have a choice of six preferences and there were only 4 teaching ones I could stand, I put in two "dummy" choices. These were courses I knew I could not get (their scores are around the high 70's low 80's) but I wanted to fill up the space. I can do those courses but I knew I wouldn't be, if that makes any sense. They are highly popular courses.

Journalism was high. So was the popular Animal Science. Last year Animal Science was 74.75, far higher than any of the other agricultural sciences. I got into Animal Science.

.........

Yes, Animal Science. That kind of thing does not happen. People like me with average grades DO NOT get into Animal Science. I sat looking at the computer for 5 minutes saying "WHAT???" quite loudly with some disbelief. I didn't get into teaching. I got into Animal Science. The family all applauded and were happy but didn't quite grasp the weirdness of it. My friend Blondie did. I told her "I got Animal Science" and she said quite loudly "WHAT???". It is simply not done. She was blubbering about how the thing is normally in the mid 80's or the high 70's and how had it worked that me in my 60's got Animal Science.

To this very second, I DON'T KNOW HOW IT HAPPENED!!!!!!

It simply does not make sense. I am still in deep shock and now my day is very changed.
Amazing how the world works, isn't it.

Class before ass.

2007-01-16T15:53:00.000+10:30

This is not what you would have been expecting. The wonderful story I was going to post on here has been hindered by writers block, the only known cure for migranes and writers cramp. It shall be written soon, trust me on this. Inspiration must strike me down like a bad flu first.

This post, however is going to be a rant and a weird one at that. If you have read my fathers blog you'll see how bad we can get.

Mini skirts. These inventions for the peverse mind can be done quite classily. The classy skirts cover ones rear and fall to about mid thigh, like the one I saw today. Mid thigh is good. Mid thigh is great. Mid thigh allows you to have that beach look and feel quite cool all the while not showing off your undies. I'm not a great fan of the mini style myself as I will freely admit due to an uneven tan, hockey muscles and weird vein patterns I cannot wear such beasts. When worn properly they can look good. When worn badly however...

I am referring to those skirts which actually started out in life as belts. The ones which are so very popular and yet show off so much of your arse it isn't funny. These are the type that are currently pounding pavement down the street and in the city. Prostitutes wear more. They can indirectly label someone as a skank or worse because they are so revealing. I am female. Please, please don't show me your bits. I have not asked for proof that you too are a girl so keep it in your pants and maybe wear something more than a g-string under that belt with a gland problem.

Remember my friends, class before ass. If the only reason that your man is with you is because you wear skankier clothing than a striper then that's not right. Wear some more clothes, cover your buttocks and see how much more seriously you are taken.

Also, remember your size. I don't wear minis for another reason; I'm a size 10. This is not mini size. Sizes 8 and 9 are mini size. Minis are a big no for anyone over size 16. You know who you are.

I will try to post a story soon.

Cherio.

I have an idea....

2006-12-14T12:02:00.000+10:30

I have an idea and I need to research. If anyone who reads this (if anyone does) is from America, could they tell me if they have ever tried these three foods? They are Lamingtons, Pavalova and Frog Cakes. I am pretty sure that no one outside of SA has tried a frog cake but still, tell me if they are popular or what. I want to know so that one of the characters doesn't become a total tool.
Thanks.
p.s. Has anyone had any cherries this season? I just have and they are THE BEST EVER!!!!! They have never tasted this good before. Please try them. They are well worth the mula.

The beginning of a great adventure

2006-12-13T16:22:00.000+10:30

Today heralds the start of this new blog (which I will hopefully remember to update) all about stories which I shall try to remember to write. My stories will end up here for you, the human population of Earth to read at your own discresion. So until I defeat the demon called writers block, I leave you.